Through A Glass Darkly
by Tarma Hartley
Summary: Five people, five different points of view. Phoenix has been killed at the battle of Malvern Hill and his commanding officer, and friend, his lover, his devoted aide-de-camp and his mother try to come to terms with their grief in their own way. Alternate Universe, American Civil War Era [1861-1865]
1. James Longstreet: A Soldier's Duty

_A/N: Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright do not belong to me; they belong to CAPCOM. Other incidental characters, both Union and Confederate, the plot and Melissa Thurber-Wright are mine. :) Lieutenant General James Longstreet, C.S.A., is real and used fictitiously._

 _Thumbnail artwork is a gift art that StudioKawaii made for me for my birthday last year. THANKS, DEARS! 3_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _Three different people, three points of view._

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Chapter 1 of a four part fic. Takes a look at three different characters and their reactions to Phoenix's death at Malvern Hill. The first looks at Lieutenant James Longstreet, followed by Miles, then by Melissa Thurber-Wright, Phoenix's mother and, finally, all three will be brought together in the final chapter. Hope you enjoy!

The title comes from a romance novel I have and from the Bible, 1 Corinthians 13:12 (KJV): For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

Not beta read

Comments are appreciated and constructive criticism is welcomed. I will probably change some things at some point; always room for improvement!

Thanks to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say!

Thanks to Pearls1990, my beta reader, for the inspiration! :)

Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, nagging (when necessary) encouragement and the title! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!

Rated Teen, Male/Male relationships, Angst/Tragedy, American Civil War AU, Alternate Universe, Phoenix & Edgeworth

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _July 6, 1862_  
 _Confederate camp of Lieutenant General James "Old Pete" Longstreet_  
 _His quarters_  
 _9 P.M._

Lieutenant General James Longstreet sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. Letters home to families who's loved ones had been killed in battle were never easy ones to write but his was no reason for him not to; he had a duty and one he didn't shirk from, no matter how hard it was.

The parchment paper lay on the desk in front of his ink blotter with only a few words scrawled on it but his heart was too heavy to continue and he had laid down the pen, tears running down his face.

He'd heard of Phoenix's death a few days earlier from Major Shaw who'd been prostrate with grief at the Major General's death. He also let Longstreet know that he, personally, had killed the Confederate sharpshooter responsible for firing the fatal shot that had killed Phoenix.

He'd placed himself in Longstreet's hands by admitting what he'd done to him but Longstreet couldn't find it in his heart to blame him. Military justice would be served but he resolved to put it off until later. Truthfully, he wondered if he wouldn't have done the same had he witnessed the Major General's death.

He wiped his red-rimmed eyes again and, picking up the pen once again, began to write.

 _July 6, 1862_

 _My Dearest Melissa_

 _I do not know if you have heard the news as of yet-although I suspect that you already know-but it is my sad duty to inform you that your son, Major General Phoenix Wright, was killed five days ago at Malvern Hill._

Longstreet stopped, feeling tears welling up again in his eyes. He sat back, letting his grief roll over him as he wept. He waved back his aide-de-camp who had come into the room to see if something was amiss; to his credit, Lieutenant Markham nodded once and left, closing the door behind him as he did so.

After some time had passed and he felt more in control of himself, he picked up the pen and continued to write.

 _He died saving Colonel Miles Edgeworth's life, his beloved, taking a Minié bullet in the back as he charged up from below. I'm told that it was a Confederate sharpshooter who fired the fatal shot and your son bravely intercepted it. I'm also told that the one who killed Phoenix is, himself, among the dead so perhaps in this there will be some shred of comfort, however small it may be. That will not bring him back, my dear friend, but I know that I am proud to have known and have had him serve under me; I can honestly say that I have never known a better, or more unselfish man, than he. He does you, and our late Martin, proud._

 _I've often accused him of being a reckless, damned fool in the past, dear Melissa, but I cannot fault him for his actions in this case. He did as his deep love for Miles directed he should and I cannot help but feel pride in him for his selfless self-sacrifice._

He stopped again, lowering his head for a few moments before he lifted it again and continued writing though his fingers were a little shaky. He'd written many a letter like this over the past year but never was one proving to be so difficult as this one was.

 _He died with honor and I can only hope that this will be of some comfort to you. I know that this will not bring him back but perhaps you can glean some mode of satisfaction that your beloved son, whom the Army of Northern Virginia is mourning today as am I, dear friend, did as he felt he had to. Louisa also sends her condolences-I told her the news as soon as I learned of it-and she will be coming to see you in a few days; I wish that I could accompany her but I am unable to due to the uncertain circumstances of War. Rest assured that my grief, and sorrow, is as heavy as yours as I, too, loved him as if he were my own son._

 _We were the closest of friends and I wish that he could have been spared to us but this is not to be._

He paused again, looking out of the window, staring off into the distance in silence. He closed his eyes as another wave of grief washed over him. He sat there, shaking with suppressed sobs, wishing with all of his heart that he didn't have to write this letter to his dear friend Melissa; she would be heartbroken, having lost both her husband and now her son in the past five years.

She wouldn't be unlike any other woman who was suffering the loss of her sons, husband, father, brothers and uncles but he inwardly cursed the ever spinning Wheel of Fortune, just the same. He wished that he could spare her the grief to come.

He composed himself and continued.

 _We were the closest of friends and I wish that h could have been spared to us but this was not to be. I share your pain at his loss and I know that the men who served under your son will also mourn him greatly for they loved him as much as I did. I am sure that there will be some who will write to you and share their memories of him with you. I know that this is only small comfort but it is offered with the most sincerest of hearts and I pray that God will be with you in this time of sorrowful testing._

 _I suspect that Miles will be coming to see you, as well, in the coming days and I pray that he will not blame himself for this tragedy as I know full well that he will. He came to see me two days ago and he looked absolutely wretched, repeating over and over how sorry he was and how he wished that it was he who took that bullet and not Phoenix. I tried my best to comfort him but his sorrow is deep and great and I fear that he may do himself harm if he is left to himself and his unrelenting grief._

 _I will close now, my dearest friend, for tears blind me and I have nothing more to add that I haven't already said. Again, I regret that this letter to you after so many years couldn't have held better news and I am sorry that I couldn't bring it to you personally. I wish that I could be there to comfort you and I know that Phoenix wouldn't want you to grieve him too long and stop living your life on his account._

 _If there is anything that you need, please don't hesitate to name it and I will be happy to try and get it for you. It is the least I can do._

 _Please accept our condolences on the loss of Phoenix; take care and do be well in these sad days to come. All of our love to you and kisses from the children who also send their love and condolences. God bless you and be always with you._

 _As Always,_  
 _Your Devoted Friend,_  
 _James Longstreet_  
 _Commanding Officer_  
 _The Army of Northern Virginia_

 _PS Perhaps this is not the proper time to include this, and please forgive me, dear friend but I hear that Colonel Mason has been paying you court recently and I wished to be the first to congratulate you. He is a fine man and I know that he is quite taken with you, as well, as he has for many years now. I remember Phoenix telling me that Colonel Mason had asked him for his permission to pay you court after First Manassas and he told him that he should ask you for himself as you were fully capable of making your own decisions in this matter. He was, indeed, every inch his father's son and I am grateful to have known him for as long, and as closely, as I did. Believe me, my dear Melissa, that I will miss him as well for he was like a son to me though were close friends._

 _Done at last._ He put down the pen, blew on the ink to dry it, folded it and placed it into the cream colored envelope that he had lying next to his left hand on his desk, licked the outside and sealed it, placing it in the box that lay at the top right hand corner. He would see to it that it would be sent to Melissa via special courier. He wished that he could be there to deliver the sad news in person but he had a War to fight and, personal feelings aside, it was what he would continue to do.

He looked out of the window again and lowered his head, praying for the happy repose of Phoenix's soul before returning to the work that they had begun together and now that he must complete alone.

 _Godspeed, Phoenix, and happy journey. We'll meet again someday on that happy shore._


	2. Col Miles Edgeworth,US: A Lover's Grief

__July 6, 1862  
Union Camp  
Headquarters of Colonel Miles Edgeworth, U.S.  
9 P.M.__

Miles stared uncomprehendingly at his conjoined hands which shook noticeably. It had been five days now since Phoenix had been killed at Malvern Hill and he still felt guilt eat at him like acid, twisting his insides.

He could see him in his mind's eye, riding up to the stone wall, intercepting the bullet that had been meant for him.

 _Damn you…_ He surprised himself at the vehemence behind those words, the guilt becoming ever more acute as anger raced through him, searing his already aching heart even deeper. _Why…Why did you…WHY?!_

He clenched his teeth, scrunching his eyes shut as tightly as he could, his balled fists pressed against them. Try as he might, he couldn't get that horrible scene out of his mind; despite how many distractions he sought out, he could still see it clearly. And his heart bled.  
 _  
WHY …DID YOU… DO THAT?! WHY?!_

He pushed himself up from his bed and walking quickly out of the tent, trying to find something- **ANYTHING**!-to distract him from his relentless grief but it was in vain, as he knew it would be.

Everywhere he looked, he could see Phoenix's smiling face, those beautiful cerulean blue eyes sparkling, that raven-black hair streaked with white, the love he had for him that prompted the ultimate sacrifice…

 _No…. Phoenix…_

A pitiful moan rose within his breast, finding free expression through tightly compressed lips, his hands digging into his grey hair and pulling with all of his might. His heart ached, shattered beyond repair and, it felt to the despondent Miles, that nothing would ever be right in his life again now that Phoenix was gone.

Was I worth it? Was Phoenix sacrificing his life for me really worth it? He couldn't help the poisonous thought that flittered across his mind, despair washing over him like a tidal wave. He couldn't help it.

He knew what Phoenix would have said-that he was indeed worth saving-but he felt cheated, somehow, that the bullet that had been meant to bury itself in his chest had gone instead into his lover's back. He couldn't repress the pained moan that emerged from between tightly pressed lips, his fingers tightening. His chest ached from the effort it took to keep his emotion in check but it was a losing battle in the end, as the tears coursing down his face now were proving.

He gave in and wept, loud, keening wails being torn from deep within him.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
**  
 _July 10, 1862  
Rhappahannock River  
3 P.M.  
_  
He leaned heavily against the tree next to the creek, his head bowed as he stood on the shore, his fingers tightening on the bark. Today had been a bad day and he felt that it was only going to get worse from here.

His face was streaked with grime and tears; the battle earlier in the day had been fierce and it was with heavy losses that they managed to drive the Confederates back.

The worst moment had to have been when he came face to face with a young Confederate from Tennessee; for a split second, he could see Phoenix's face reflected in the young man's before he shot him, watching him crumple slowly to the ground.

He closed his eyes tightly against the memory, feeling his gorge rise but couldn't blot it out completely, seeing the young man sinking slowly to his knees, a surprised look on his face before he toppled face first onto the ground, his body twitching for a few moments before it lay still. He wept as he lowered his weapon, his fingers tightening on the left hand side of his face.

Miles' heart lurched as he saw the scene replayed over and over in his mind. That young soldier looked so much like Phoenix it scared him and he'd hesitated only a split second before he'd fired; the young Confederate had murder in his eyes as he started to level his weapon to shoot him.

Still, he hadn't wanted to kill him but, as was so often the case in war, what you wanted didn't matter. On the battlefield, it was kill or be killed and he knew it having been taught that same lesson repeatedly with every fresh skirmish or battle.

He'd come here to be alone and to remember his beloved Phoenix. He lowered his head as he remembered another time, just two weeks earlier, and his heart bled at the memory.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
 _  
Two weeks earlier…_

 _June 26, 1862_  
 _Union Field Headquarters of Colonel Miles Edgeworth_  
 _Virginia_  
 _6 P.M._

 _  
Phoenix lay in Miles' arms, still breathing heavily, his head lying on Miles' chest which rose and fell. Their lovemaking had been much more passionate than usual and, while he wasn't complaining, it still made him wonder a little._

Miles chuckled as he kissed the top of Phoenix's sweaty head, his fingers wreathing in his lover's salt-and-pepper locks.

Why am I complaining? _he thought, delighting in Phoenix's soft moans in-between labored breaths._ I should be happy that he is since we haven't seen each other for a few months. _He glanced down at him and saw Phoenix's cerulean blue eyes looking up at him, a tired smile on his face, his wet, glistening lips parted._ I _really_ missed him…  
 _  
He looked altogether too succulent to ignore and Miles didn't hesitate as he bent his head, kissing that sweet, tempting mouth. He delighted in Phoenix's surprised exclamation before he melted into the kiss, his mouth moving against his with equal passion._

 _Phoenix chuckled once they had parted, his cheeks flushed._

"I couldn't resist." _Phoenix's expression was so comical that Miles couldn't help but laugh, his lover joining in after a moment._ "You were just so delicious that I couldn't help myself."

"Well, I daresay that's a good thing. I wouldn't want you thinking the opposite!"

 _Phoenix chuckled, kissing Miles again._

"No chance of that, _lover_." _Phoenix reached up, stroking Miles' cheek with tenderness and affection, his eyes shining softly._ "I love you, Miles and I don't want to be anyone else's except _yours_ …"

 _They chatted amiably for a time and then Phoenix sighed, his happy expression fading to one of reflective sadness and Miles' hold on him tightened. He couldn't help himself; it was an unconscious reaction to realities that he didn't want to contemplate, let alone even face._

He'd seen that same look in others' eyes, those who seemed to have predicted their impending deaths. He hadn't put much stock in it at first but, after seeing those who had that faraway look in their eyes who were later either killed in battle, died of their injuries or passed away in the field hospitals, he learned to fear it.

It made him sick at heart to see it in other people's faces and terrified to see it in Phoenix's since that was the last place that he wanted to see it.

His expression fell, pain searing him at the thought.

"Miles?" _Phoenix's voice was questioning. He hadn't missed the change in mood and Miles' expression, correctly surmising from where it had come from and hurried to comfort him; he pressed light kisses against his mouth until he could feel it curve underneath his own and he responded with warm embraces of his own._

Even as he was trying to console Miles, he couldn't completely push that nagging feeling completely out of his mind. He'd heard of others having the same premonition, each one dying on the battlefield or in hospitals later. It still haunted him.

"I-it's nothing, Phoenix." Miles' voice was calm but there was a slight edge to it.

"Are you sure?" _Phoenix had lifted himself up on one elbow and was staring intently at him, his eyes flickering._

Miles nodded quickly.

"I… _don't_ want to talk about it, let alone even think about it." _He looked earnestly at his beloved._ "I _don't_ want to ruin the precious time we have with morbid thoughts." _He lifted his free hand, his fingertips tenderly stroking Phoenix's cheek, his grey eyes glistening._ "Please… I …don't want to waste our too short time together…" _He managed a wan smile as he leaned down, kissing him tenderly._

Phoenix nodded.

"All right." _He smiled as he wrapped his arms around Miles' neck, pulling his head down for a hungry kiss. It wasn't long before they made love again until the first rosy rays of dawn crossed the sky._

Phoenix had fallen asleep a few minutes after their lovemaking but Miles remained awake for some time afterward, stroking Phoenix's sweaty skin absentmindedly, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a tangled heap.

He didn't want to admit to himself how much that look had bothered him and he felt sick at the implications.

I _can't_ lose you!

 _He couldn't get that faraway look in Phoenix's eyes out of his mind no matter what he tried to do to chase it away; the plain truth was that he knew what that look meant and he didn't want to acknowledge it. It came coming back to haunt him until he'd finally fallen asleep, his arms tightening protectively around him._..

I _won't_ let it happen! I promise!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _4 P.M._

 **PHOENIX!**

He came back to reality with a loud moan, fresh tears coursing down his face. It surprised him since he didn't think that he had anymore tears left to shed but he couldn't deny it as they poured down his face in a steady stream, his fingers convulsively digging grooves into the tree bark as he wept.

He'd never felt so wretched or lost in his life. As he stood there on the riverbank, he knew that life had, one in devastating blow, lost all meaning for him. With Phoenix gone, he contemplated the long and lonely stretch of years ahead of him; his heart had belonged, and always would, to Phoenix and there would never be anyone else for him.

 _Phoenix…_ He bowed his head once again, feeling a new wave of tears course down his face. W _hen will it stop?! When will the pain ever stop?!_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
** _  
5:20 P.M._

He'd lost track of time and had no idea how long he's stood there, leaning against the old tree on the riverbank, so immersed in his own misery and grief. He wasn't aware of anyone there with him until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He jerked his head up with a startled oath to see the sympathetic gaze of Major Shaw, Phoenix's aide-de-camp, standing there beside him.

His own eyes were red-rimmed and the blotches on his cheeks also told Miles that he was grieving for his loss just as he was, albeit for a very different reason.

"Colonel Edgeworth?" Major Shaw's vice was low and hesitant.

"Yes?" He sniffled once, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes and then cleared his throat, standing up straight and brushing the hem of his uniform jacket. "What can I do for you?"

"Lt. General James Longstreet sent me," Major Shaw replied softly, his own softly accented voice raw. "He… he… asks if you would be so kind as to do him a… favor."

 _What?_

Miles' eyebrow rose. What could Old Pete be asking of him? He hadn't talked to him for the past three years and couldn't imagine for the life of him what the Confederate Lt. General would want that he would send a subordinate across enemy lines in order to seek him out.

He was surprised that he had done so but he knew James Longstreet very well form their days at the University of Virginia and he also knew that he wouldn't have sent him unless there was a pressing reason for him to have done so.  
 _  
It must be important or he wouldn't have sent him although I can't imagine what that reason might be._

"If I can, I would be happy to." Miles wiped his eyes with impatient fingers, taking a deep breath. "What is it he asks of me?"

Major Shaw reached down, opening the small leather pouch that was attached to his belt and reaching inside, pulling out a small, cream-colored envelope and Miles could see that a name had been written across it in elegant script: Mrs. Melissa Wright, Virginia.

Miles' hand started to shake as Major Shaw held the envelope out to him, the corners of his mouth twitching. He knew what that meant… and what that envelope contained.

 _No….! I…I…CAN'T!_

"Lt. General Longstreet asks if you would be so kind as to take this letter to Mrs. Wright; he regrets that he cannot do it himself at this time." He stopped, swallowing hard. "As I said, he would prefer to be the one who broke the news of her son's passing to her himself but…" The last came out with a loud sob and the good Major lapsed into silence, his own grief threatening to overcome him.

Miles nodded slowly, feeling his heart ache even more than it had before. He dreaded the moment when Mother Wright would find out that Phoenix was dead but he hoped that she would not, in her great grief, blame him. He reached out, clapping a hand on the good major's shoulder, feeling it shake with emotion as they stood there.

He also hoped that she would not hate him although he wouldn't have blamed her if she had. No punishment he could ever receive could compare to the gnawing agony that ate at his soul like acid; nothing could compare to the hate he felt so deeply for himself or the fact that he blamed himself for Phoenix's death.

 _I can do this… and I think that Mother Wright would appreciate having the news from me when…_ He broke off that train of thought with a will and nodded. _I_ have _to do this for him. It's only right!  
_  
"I'll take it to her," he said quietly and held out his hand, closing his eyes as Major Shaw handed him the envelope, his fingers wrapping tightly around it.

"Thank you, Sir," he whispered, stepping back and saluting. Miles returned the salute and watched in silence as Major Shaw turned and walked away, wiping his eyes with his gloved fingers, until he was lost to sight.

He stood there for a moment or two longer before he sighed, putting the envelope in his jacket pocket. With one final glance at the gently rippling water of the river, he turned and slowly began to walk away, his heart heavy with every step.

 _Mother…_


	3. Mrs Melissa Wright: A Mother's Sorrow

_July 8, 1862  
Mrs. Melissa Thurber-Wright's Residence  
Solar  
Richmond, Virginia  
10:20 A.M._

Mrs. Melissa Thurber-Wright sat in the solar that morning, reading Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel, _The_ _Scarlet Letter,_ in her favorite chair near the stained glass windows. A silver tea service was set on the small walnut table by her elbow by the incomparable Mr. Myers who knew her habitual love for tea when she was reading.

She was dressed in her favorite wine colored dress with lace around the collar and silver-threaded sprigs of holly embroidered on it, a cameo brooch at her throat that had been a gift from Colonel Nathaniel Mason, her favorite silver slippers and a pair of silver plated reading spectacles on the bridge of her nose.

She'd been having some disturbing thoughts lately and found, much to her surprise, to be agitated for some reason that she couldn't explain. She looked out of the side window onto the front lawn, seeing the beautiful cherry trees in bloom with their pink flowers and heady scent.  
 _  
Maybe its just simply the War. That's enough to make anyone nervous._ She tried to return to her reading but those nagging thoughts kept returning until, with a sigh, she lay the book on the table beside the chair, tucking a lock of salt-and-pepper hair that had come loose from the serviceable bun at the nape of her neck back into its proper place.

She took a deep breath, glancing over at the portrait of her late husband, Martin Wright, at its usual place over the fireplace, a single rose laid at its base. It had rested here since his passing six years earlier and her eyes misted as she looked at it, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

 _We had nineteen wonderful years together,_ she thought wistfully, _and I miss him still._

After many years alone, she had, five months earlier, chosen a new suitor, a Colonel Nathaniel Mason of the Army of Northern Virginia. They had met at a house Christmas party given by her good friend, Lucinda Deane Edgeworth, in 1860. She had been taken with the handsome Colonel's kind face, with brilliant hazel eyes, cupid mouth, well chiseled features, shoulder length salt-and-pepper hair and a slim, toned body that the navy blue uniform he wore set off perfectly.

He was a gentleman of some means and had a soft and mellow voice, a wonderful sense of humor and a keen intelligence that was reflected in the knowledge he had on many subjects. He had joined the United States Army back in 1859 and had risen through the ranks relatively quickly due to his keep perception and quick intelligence. He'd resigned his commission April 17, 1861, after Virginia's secession, to join the Confederate Army of the Potomac which had been organized on June 20th of that same year.

They had talked for some time on different subjects and he had surprised her by asking her to dance. She hadn't danced for years but he wouldn't take no for an answer so she had graciously given in; she had to admit that he was quite the charming gentleman and a good dancer, to boot. To her surprise, he had, in effect, become her partner for the evening much to the chagrin of many of the younger women present.

They had met several times since then, always in the company of a chaperone, and had gotten to know each other quite well over time. She had grown to like him very much and it was clear that he was quite taken with her, as well, if the soft gaze he had in his eyes whenever he looked at her was any indication.

She had felt guilty for some time after that, feeling that she was somehow being unfaithful to the memory of her first husband whom she had loved with all of her heart and who's passing six years earlier had left her bereft. There was no denying how she felt but she wasn't ready to move on; she'd also demurely rejected Colonel Mason's suit three times previously, saying that she wasn't ready yet.

She'd thought that this would have put an end to the good colonel's attentions to her but she was wrong; much to her surprise, he told her he'd wait until she was ready and he was as good as his word. When the War had started seven months later, he'd gone off with his Brigade but kept in touch with her by letter.

Time, apparently, hadn't dimmed their feelings; if anything, they had grown stronger during their separation and that was quite clear in both his letters and hers. He had told her quite plainly that he was taken with her and that he wished to start courting her officially but wouldn't _without_ her consent. Or, apparently, Phoenix's.  
 _  
_She thought, with some amusement, that _he_ had actually asked _Phoenix_ for _his_ permission to court _her!_

 _What Phoenix thought of that I can imagine!_ She chuckled softly at the memory. _I know that he was being respectful by asking the man of the house for permission to court his mother and I can't fault him for that.  
_  
Surely Martin would approve of him for he was like him in many ways: warm, kind, loving and respectful. He treated her like the lady she was and not in a condescending manner-as she knew some of her friends' husbands did-with no thought to her quick intelligence or wit, both of which he acknowledged and appreciated. _  
_  
He was also tolerant of her Union friends which was all to the good; if he had not been, she would have sent him away long before this. She immediately thought of Lucinda Deane Edgeworth, her best friend of nearly seventeen years now. Theirs was a long and solidly built friendship and it was also common knowledge to them both that their respective sons, Miles and Phoenix, were also deeply in love and had been since they were boys.

 _Dear Martin_ , she thought fondly, taking another deep breath, _I still miss you and I will always love you; I think its time that I went on with my life. Colonel Mason is a good man and I know that you two would get along were you still here._ She smiled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. _I know that you encouraged me to find another after you were gone and, though I could not bear the thought in years past, at long last I can fulfill your final wish._

She put her index and second fingers to her lips, kissing them gently and extending them toward his picture. Was it her imagination or did she see a glint in his painted eyes? She sighed, feeling that familiar tug in her heart as she looked away, smiling softly as she thought of Colonel Mason, his handsome face appearing in her mind's eye.

They were very happy together and had been courting for the past five months; she, and he, had been worried at first as to what Phoenix would say-after all, her deceased husband was his father and he'd loved him very much-and both of them were overjoyed when he heartily gave them his blessing.

She had that same uneasy feeling again and it was beginning to cause her some concern; frowning, she lowered her hand, boxing it under her chin. She always worried about Phoenix and Miles-they were at war on opposite sides, after all-and she considered Miles to be as much _her_ son as Phoenix was. She couldn't help it that she was concerned about the two of them.

 _I hope that this War will be over soon though I know that this is a hopeless wish, at best. Both sides have dug in and refuse to budge though I cannot, in truth, fault Mr. Lincoln for wishing to keep the country together._ Mrs. Wright regarded the wall across the solar thoughtfully. _God willing, Phoenix and Miles will make it through unscathed and then they can pick up where they left off when its over._

She sighed as she poured herself a cup of tea, placing the silver teapot on the silver platter. _Poor children. Our society certainly isn't kind to them and all because they love a person the same sex as they. Her brow furrowed as s_ he picked up her teacup, taking a sip of the hot, fragrant brew. _For their sakes, I wish things were different._

She _hadn't_ been surprised when Phoenix had come out in his early teens-she always knew that there was something different about him from the time he was a young boy-and though Martin was initially shocked when he found out, he wholeheartedly supported his son afterward. Poor Miles hadn't been as fortunate with his stepfather and the two had been estranged since 1857.

 _It was a pity that Richard Parsons couldn't come to terms with it._ She looked toward the window. _He certainly lost out and I know Lucinda certainly took him to task for it. I could never understand why his image was more important than his stepson's happiness but I suppose that there are those to whom the outward image they project is everything and now it's too late to make amends._

She sipped her tea once again before placing the teacup on its saucer. _Poor foolish man... I think he really_ does _regret his coldness toward Miles but he waited too long. A pity that it also had to come at such a terrible time... It would have been better had he done so much earlier._

Her smile faded at the thought and she quickly turned her mind to more pleasant topics. She and Colonel Mason had arranged to meet later on this evening and he was to escort her out to dinner with Mr. Meyers accompanying them as chaperone.

She thought, with some indignation, that this was utterly preposterous. After all, she was a widow of many years but she supposed that the proprieties had to be respected. She also had the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Meyers had insisted that he be the one to escort them since he feared for her safety and she also knew that he had a firearm on his person; he carried it in case of trouble and she thought that this was a wise course to take though she hated guns and refused to touch them.  
 _  
In a time of War, all niceties and proprieties are thrown to the ground and trampled in the dust._ She sighed again as she took a large sip from her teacup, placing it once again on its saucer before she picked up her book, pushing her reading glasses further up on her nose. _What fools men can be..._

She settled down to read Dickens' latest classic and soon lost herself in the English Victorian world...

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _4 P.M._

She was startled out of her reverie by a terrific din coming from the front hall, crying out in surprise as she dropped her book, her heart hammering in her chest.

 _Dear God, what is it this time?!_ She immediately thought that they may have some unpleasant visitors-they had had such in the past-but this one as different, somehow. Once she had collected herself from her startlement, she realized that the voices sounded. _..familiar..._ for some reason.

Rising quickly to her feet, she tossed the book down on the chair and raced out of the door and down the hall to the foyer where she was treated to a woeful sight: Miles Edgeworth, his face white as a sheet, crying and carrying on, his blue uniform streaked with dust and mud, his shoes caked with it as well, struggling in the arms of Mr. Meyers and two of the stable groomsmen.

"What is the meaning of this?!" she cried and the commotion stopped almost as soon as it had begun. "Release him at once! Have you gone mad?!"

Mr. Meyers was unperturbed as he nodded to the other two, who nodded back and released Miles who collapsed into Mr. Meyers' arms, his body shaking. Mrs. Wright inclined her head at the two groomsmen who nodded and took their leave, opening and closing the door quietly behind them as they left. Once they were gone, she turned an inquisitive eye to Meyers, her face an angry mask.

"Mr. Myers, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, hands balled into fists and placed on her hips. "You _know_ Miles Edgeworth, for heaven's sake! He's been a fixture here since he was two!" She stood there to her full height of five feet, seven inches, her greenish-grey eyes snapping sparks. "And I demand to know just what the devil you were doing!"

"Begging your pardon, Madam," Myers said quietly, tenderly stroking Miles' sweaty grey hair, making soothing cooing noises, "but Master Miles came to the house in a terrible state, startling the young house servants who ran out to get the groomsmen from the stables."

He turned his attention to Miles whom he was helping to the douvan that was in the main hall, supporting him as he took step by shaky step in that direction, ably supported by the butler. He leaned on his shoulder, his cries turning into sniffling hiccups.

" _That_ much I can divine," she replied tartly as Myers helped sit Miles down, her eyebrow raising, "given the unholy to-do I heard from the solar but you _still_ haven't explained _why_ you and the two groomsmen were manhandling poor Miles." Her face registered compassion as she turned her gaze to Miles, sitting there dejectedly, his shaking fingers grabbing handfuls of his hair, mewling sounds of pain pouring from his lips.

"I was holding him, Madam,," he explained patiently, keeping his voice soft and low, casting furtive glances at Miles every now and again, "and I was trying to prevent the other two from hurting him. Poor Miles didn't know _what_ to think when he stumbled in, looking like the hounds of hell were hot on his heels. The groomsmen _didn't_ know him and thought he was trying to invade your property; _that_ was what all the shouting was about."

Mrs. Wright moved over to Miles, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. He didn't respond for many minutes, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Mr. Meyers, what's wrong with him?" She was very worried and Miles' strange state only added to her concern.

"He's had a very nasty shock although what that is that caused this I don't know." Mr. Meyers looked at Miles, his eyes soft. He noted that Miles' right hand had fallen onto his lap though he, himself, was not aware of it. "It has to be something very important for him to go through the rain to get to here."

 _Miles..._ If she heard him, Mrs. Wright gave no sign; all of her attention was fixed on Miles and the terrible state he was in. Water was dripping on the marble floor from his hair and dark blue uniform but she ignored it, sitting down beside him, her hand still resting on his shoulder, taking his right hand in her own and squeezing it tenderly.

"Miles?" Her voice was soft, gentle. "What is troubling you so?"

For a long moment, he didn't respond or react at all; she was about to ask him again when he lifted his head slowly, turning to face her and she nearly cried out at the lost look he turned on her.

His grey eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, his mouth an unhappy slash, his lips trembling, small mewls of pain emerging. He was shaking, and not only from the cold; there was something so inhuman in that gaze that she trembled as she looked at him, the uneasy feeling she'd been feeling off and on today coming back with a vengeance.

"Miley?" She used the pet name she'd given him when he was a young boy, watching anxiously as sanity slowly returned to his face. "What's wrong?"

"Mother..." Miles' pained whisper was hoarse, raw with sorrow and unhappiness; his hand tightened around hers and, in a flash, she knew that what he was about to tell her _wasn't_ good. "I-"

"It's all right, Miles. You know you can tell me anything." She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. "What is it?"

Without a word, Miles' hand disengaged from hers and shakily reached into his pocket, holding out the small cream-colored envelope, the look on his face heartrending. Her hand shook as she reached out and took it, her mouth set in a grim line, her eyes welling with tears. She recognized the handwriting on the outside as being from her friend James Longstreet, the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia and she also knew what it contained.

 _Oh...God... PHOENIX!_

She clutched the envelope as she bit her lip, scrunching her eyes tightly shut as she lowered her head. She'd seen enough of these envelopes to know _exactly_ what it contained... and _what_ it meant.

She bit her lip as she lifted her hand from Miles' shoulder and, with trembling fingers and a sinking heart, practically tore it open, shaking out the parchment paper impatiently.

 **July 6, 1862**

 _ **My Dearest Melissa**_

 _ **I do not know if you have heard the news as of yet-although I suspect that you already know-but it is my sad duty to inform you that your son, Major General Phoenix Wright, was killed five days ago at Malvern Hill.**_ **  
**_  
No...oh, please, no. Dear God above, let this be some kind of terrible mistake!_

 _ **He died saving Colonel Miles Edgeworth's life, his beloved, taking a Minié bullet in the back as he charged up from below. I'm told that it was a Confederate sharpshooter who fired the fatal shot and your son bravely intercepted it. I'm also told that the one who killed Phoenix is, himself, among the dead so perhaps in this there will be some shred of comfort, however small it may prove to be. That will not bring him back, my dear friend, but I know that I am proud to have known, and have had him serve under me; I can honestly say that I have never known a better, or more unselfish man, than he. He does you, and our late Martin, proud.**_

 _ **I've often accused him of being a reckless, damned fool, dear Melissa, but I cannot fault him for his actions in this case. He did as his deep love for Miles directed he should and I cannot help but feel pride in him for his selfless self-sacrifice.**_

She couldn't read anymore, her eyes blinded with tears. She whimpered pitifully as the the letter fluttered from her numb fingers, slowly drifting to the floor where it landed with a soft whisper. Her eyed widened with shock, her mouth working though no sounds emerged.  
 _  
Oh...my son...Phoenix... My precious, precious boy! It CAN'T be true! It...CAN'T... BE!_

She felt tears welling in her eyes, her fingers clenching into fists on her knees. The day she had so long dreaded, and hoped would never arrive, had come. Her beloved son was dead. She heard a curious, inhuman wailing that seemed to come from somewhere near her and instantly felt Meyers' arms wrap around her, pulling her head to his shoulder while she wept and wailed, her other arm still around Miles' shaking shoulders.

"Oh, Madam, I'm so sorry... so sorry for your loss." He gently rocked her back and forth, making soft, soothing noises as she wept, tears pouring down her face like rain, her heartrending cries of loss chilling the blood of all who came upon the terrible sight of their mistress weeping as if her heart would break.  
 _  
My poor, dear son...all my hopes and dreams for you and Miley and your future happiness...gone._ She scrunched her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. _Oh, God why have You forsaken me?!_

More arms went around her and other cries joined hers in mourning Phoenix's loss...  
 **  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _5:45 P.M._

Mrs. Wright didn't know how long she had wept on Myers' shoulder but she now started to pull herself together. Her terrible cries had at last ceased into sniffling hiccups and she now became more aware of her surroundings, of all the arms that were around her; despite her great grief, she felt comforted.

She pulled gently back and the arms loosened and let her sit up straight, taking in deep breaths as she did so. She didn't know why God had taken her only child from her but there was no help for it now; he was dead and she, and his loved ones, needed to accept that and move on, no matter how painful it would be.

Miles needs comforting. I need to pull myself together, if only for his sake.

She wiped her eyes with shaky fingers, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat so large it threatened to choke her, smoothing down the front of her dress with impatient gestures. She looked up and nodded; Myers nodded back and gestured for the others to follow him which they did as they turned and left the room.

Miles stared at the floor, his hands hanging between his knees, his head low, his grey eyes wide open and unseeing. Her heart went out to him; she knew that he was suffering from Phoenix's loss just as much as she although for a different reason.

 _Poor child_. They were both mourning the same loss, albeit for different reasons: She had lost a beloved son, her only child; he had lost his beloved and she could plainly see how affected he was. His skin, usually a pale color, seemed even paler; his expressive grey eyes were now dull and lifeless; his mouth worked though no sounds emerged.

She wiped her eyes once again and took Miles' hand in between hers, surprised at how cold they felt, her fingers tightening.

"Miles?"

She could feel the tension in his body before she saw him shrink into himself, his jaw tightening. She didn't know what thoughts were troubling him but she wanted to let him know that she shared his sorrow and she would help him all she could.

"Miles?" She licked her lips and tried again.

"It's my fault," he said dully and her eyes widened at the flat, dead tone of his voice. "It's all...my fault."

She was stunned in silence for a moment and, when she spoke again, her voice was incredulous. "What are you saying, Miley?" She clutched his hand even tighter. "Phoenix's death _wasn't_ your fault!"

"But it was!" he exploded, equal portions of rage and grief in his voice as he half-turned to face her. "I...I...he was distracted...and I...I...tried to shout out for him to...to go back but... he..." He bit back a sob. "I...he...I DIDN'T ...warn HIM IN TIME, Mother; it's ALL MY FAULT HE'S...HE'S... DEAD!"

"How?!" She was trying to remain calm but her own veneer was starting to crack under the strain and it showed in the hight-pitched croak. "How could you _possibly_ blame yourself?! YOU weren't the one who shot him!"

"But...IT WAS MY FAULT!" he shouted back, his voice cracking, his hands clenched into fists. "I might as well have shot him! It's MY FAULT HE'S DEAD! IF I had..had -" He tried to keep back the tears that were pouring down his face but it was a useless venture - "WARNED him sooner, he WOULDN'T have died! If only I had warned him...if only I'd NOTICED the sharpshooter earlier...if only I...!"

"STOP IT MILEY!" Her face sheet white, she surprised herself at how shrill her voice was. "STOP IT! His death ISN'T your fault! It was NOT your doing! You had NOTHING to do with it!"

 _Dear God, HOW can I get through to him?!_

Miles opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again, looking back at the floor, his teeth gritted.

Neither of them spoke for some time and it was Miles who broke the strained silence first.

"I wish it had been me." His voice was dead, flat. Mrs. Wright stared at him in shock, her mouth working. "I...wish it had been me who died then I wouldn't-"

She surprised them both by half turning and slapping him as hard as she could with her left hand, the loud cracking sound startling both of them. His head snapped sideways and he stared at her, his shaking hand slowly coming up to the mark on his cheek, his eyes wide with hurt and surprise.

 _Oh, God... What have I done?!_

She stared at her hand in shock and was shaking so badly that she had to exert every ounce of self-control she had not to break.

"Don't you EVER say that to me again, Miley!" Her eyes were red-rimmed but fierce, flashing greenish-grey sparks, her hand clenching into a fist on her lap, her voice low and dangerous. "I NEVER want you to say that to _me_ or _anyone else_ ever again!"

"Mother...?"

"You had NOTHING to do with his death, Miley, and I will NOT sit here and listen to you blame yourself for something you had NO control over!" She was desperate; she could see the lost and haunted look in his eyes and knew that she needed to get through to him somehow.

Her slapping him had surprised them both but it had the effect of snapping him out of his needless self-recrimination. She was determined to make him believe he wasn't to blame and that she, herself, _didn't_ blame him.

"James said it was a Confederate sharpshooter who killed Phoenix, not YOU! Do you honestly think that _I_ would be unaffected if _you_ had died? Did you honestly think that I would be... _happy_... if you perished and Phoenix survived?!"

"But-"

She cut him off ruthlessly, shaking her head hard.

"NO! You had NOTHING to do with his death and I'm DAMNED if I'll LISTEN to this nonsense!" Her voice was rising again but she didn't care. "You had NOTHING to do with his death, Miles! NOTHING!"

"But..I DID! If I hadn't..."

"NO! You had NOTHING to do with it! His life and death were _not_ in your hands!"

"But...I..." His voice was now a soft, pained whisper and she had to lean over closer to him to hear him, her anger slowly draining away as she caught sight of the pinched and unhappy look on his face. "If only...I..."

 _My poor lost child!_

"No, Miley." Her voice was just as soft and tense as his, grabbing his ice cold hand in hers once again. "You had _nothing_ to do with his death and I _don't_ want you to blame yourself." She reached out with her free hand, her fingers grasping his chin and turning his face to look at her, trying not to cry out at the terrible expression he had on his face. "Did you think that I _could_ have been happy, _would_ have been, knowing that _Phoenix_ was alive and _you_ were dead?"

"I-" He snapped his mouth shut, his lips trembling.

 _Oh, my dear child, how could you think_ I _would ever- That_ he _would ever - !_

"No, Miley," she continued, her voice cracking at the edges, "I would not. And neither would _he_. He LOVED you with all of his being, Miles; _how_ could you _ever_ think that _he_ would have been happy if _you_ had died? He LOVED you enough to sacrifice his _life_ for you; _how_ could you think he would have been happy had you died instead? How could you dishonor his memory like that?"

"Phoenix..." Miles' voice cracked as he spoke his beloved's name, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I...I..wish that I...that he..."

"I know, Miley," she interrupted gently, "I know. You miss him; so will I and everyone who knew and loved him but-" She paused, taking a deep, shaky breath - "he _wouldn't_ want _us_ to mourn him too long and would like us to live our lives as best we can without... _him_." She had to stop for another long moment. "Miles, you have always been like a second son to me; did you not think that I would mourn your loss, too?"

He sniffled but didn't reply but his silence was answer enough.

"Miles... I love you and would do ANYTHING to take this burden from you; God knows, I wish that I could!" She paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "But I can't and its up to us to pick up the pieces of our lives as best as we can and live them as best as we can."

"There will _never_ be anyone else for me, Mother. There... _can't_ be..." His voice was hard and she knew that he spoke the truth. There never would be another for Miles, as much as she might wish it to be so if only for his sake; his heart had been, and always would, belong to Phoenix.

"Perhaps, once time has healed some of the wounds..."

He shook his head violently. "Never, Mother. I will _never_ seek another..." He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "My heart is, and always has, belonged _only_ to him."

She nodded, swallowing hard.

"I know. He would want us to be happy and I..I think... that we should do our best to try and do that." She paused again, trying to keep the sob she could feel bubbling up to her lips. "For... _his_ sake."

Miles sighed deeply but slowly nodded.

"For _his_ sake..."

She didn't say anything but slid her arm over his shoulders, tugging him toward her and he was happy to do so, laying his head on her shoulder while she stroked his sweaty grey locks with a mother's tenderness, her cheek lying against the top of his head.

After some time she finally spoke.

"Where is he, Miles?"

He knew what she was asking. "At the bottom of the hill, three feet to the east of the copse of trees at the bottom." He closed his eyes tightly shut. "Major Shaw... _helped._.. me to... _bury_...him." He sucked in a shaky breath through gritted teeth, trying to keep a sob from rising. "I...it's a peaceful place..."

She nodded but couldn't speak, her own veneer at last collapsing as they both broke down and wept, Miles' hand clutching hers in a death grip. After some time had passed, she finally spoke, her voice thick with tears.

"Thank you, Miley. I'm sure it is."

Several moments passed before he spoke again, his voice cracking.

" _Mother._.."

"It's all right, Miles; I know. I KNOW. Just...let it out. _All of it_..."

He nodded and, turning his face into her shoulder, wept bitter tears for the loss of his beloved, Mrs. Wright's tears mingling with his, her head resting against his.

"I...LOVED him so much, Mother, and...I.. I!" He couldn't continue as his voice broke again, weeping hoarsely, clutching her hand.

"I...know, Miley... I... KNOW..." She swallowed hard once again, her fingers tightening around his shoulder. "I'll...miss... _him_...too..."

Her own grief once again overwhelmed her and she wept with him, holding the heartbroken Miles close to her.

 _Phoenix..._


End file.
